


Dark wings, dark words

by cortchuzska



Series: The Sands of Time [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sand Snakes receiving birds from King's Landing</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sunspear, Old Palace_
> 
> Ellaria's daughters receive a bird from King's Landing

Dorea slouched on a cot, watching her eldest sisters getting ready for another feast in Myrcella's honour. They were trying to curl their hair in ringlets, in the same style of the little Princess, with only scanty success. The girls shared their father's sleek black hair.

“You are going to burn your hair again, and anyway curls look prettier on blondes. I will grow a Dothraki braid, when I'm older, and I will be a rider. I have read on father's books that riders-”

“I doubt Dothraki riders accept little girls.”

“Anyway I will ask Obara to teach me how to fight. Do you think I could join the Kingsguard? Ser Arys says women can't.”

“Brienne of Tarth was in King Renly's Rainbow Guard, though. You might be the first one as well.”

“Or maybe I will be a pirate, like Asha Greyjoy.”

“Dornishpeople don't steer ships.”

“Sarella does. She will help me.”

“She is away now.”

Dorea huffed. “Is there a single thing I can do?”

Her sisters didn't heed her.

“Why don't we go to the Waters Garden? Loreza is getting bored; she is an overindulged little child.” Dorea said with all the dignity of her eight years.

The eldest glanced at each other, hiding a complicity smile. Everyone of them, at due time, had enjoyed being an overindulged child. Obella left the dressing table and hugged her little sister.

“Who is the overindulged girl here?” She laughed tickling Dorea, and slumped by her side on the cot, where the two sisters playfully wrestled, unravelling Obella hairdo.

“Look at you! You should better wear a Dothraki braid.” Elia scoffed. “We are not going to the Water Gardens; we stay here to keep Princess Myrcella company.”

“You and Dorea stay here to keep her company. I'm not even allowed to this night feast, and Loreza is only six and way to young for your Princess. We have nothing to do here, and Sunspear is so boring.” Obella pouted.

“You never complained being at the Old Palace, when mother and father were.”

“They aren't now, and I can't see why I should remain here. They should have taken me and Loree to King's Landing, leaving you two with Myr.”

“Loreza is too young to travel.” Elia answered curtly.

Prince Oberyn had not even allowed her to leave for King's Landing with him, which Elia sorely resented for.

\--o--

She entered her father's solar.

“You and mother are going to King's Landing, aren't you? May I come too?”

“That was supposed to be a most guarded secret: Doran won't be pleased. Who told you? Your cousin Arianne?”

Elia went on boldly. “If I come with you, I won't spoil any secret.”

“You will stay here _and_ you won't spoil any secret. Period.”

“I've always wished to visit the capital since -”

“Since you have heard Myrcella flaunting about King's Landing.”

“The Princess says -”

“You shouldn't listen to her silly tales. She knows nothing but King's Landing; it's just a city, and if compared to any Free City quite a lousy one.”

“Sunspear is not even that!”

“You will remain here in Sunspear with your sisters all the same and attend Princess Myrcella.”

“I'm almost a woman grown. I know how to behave properly at court. Why shouldn't I come with you?”

“No, child, you can't.”

“Why can't I?”

“That's no jaunt, Lily. You stay.”

“I'm not a child, father, and I will not stand those childish pet names any more. My name is Elia, please call me so from now on.”

“As you will, my lady. That's no jaunt, _Elia_. You will stay.”

She walked out in a huff, refused talking to her father while he was still at Sunspear, and when he left for King's Landing she was not in the yard with her sisters kneeling before their sire.

\--o--

“And you, little sister, should be already in your bed.” Obella added.

Dorea sighed, ruffled her hair, rose up with a superior yawn, and almost tumbled on Maester Myles entering the room with a letter he soon handed to Elia.

“An urgent raven, my lady.”

“Isn't Arianne at the Old Palace?”

Since their father had left, messages regarding current affairs were always reported to the Princess.

“The bird is for you.”

It had Prince Oberyn's sigil, and she still hoped in some apology words from him. Arianne wouldn't humble herself with her own father, yet Elia felt almost guilty; she should have written to him, but she had been craven, her letter still on her desk, not even begun. She broke the seal; handwriting was their mother's.

'My children, Loreza, Dorea, Obella, Elia, beloved, be strong as your father would have had you -'

Would have _had_?

She knew. Elia bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling, and went on reading.

“Dorea, call Loreza, and get her dressed. Now.”

“She must be already sleeping!”

“ _Now_ , I told you.”

Dorea scurried out.

“What's it, Elia?”

“Our father...” She passed Obella the sheet.

“But that's from mother-” She read, and the sisters flung into each other's arms.

“Let's cry now, Elia. We must not let the youngest see our tears, nor let them hear our sobs.”

Elia Sand wished to cry, felt a knot forming in her throat, but she simply couldn't.


	2. The Sphinx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oldtown, Quill and Tankard's_
> 
>  
> 
> Alleras shots his last arrow, and hits the mark.

“Missed!” Roone shouted.

Alleras shook jauntily his head. “Help me picking up my arrows.”

Mollander and Roone joined him; Armen cradled his chin, looked at them, and yawned.

“ _Thank you_ , Armen.” Alleras was gathering the arrows in a sheaf.

“As it happens, I just can't see the point in archery.”

“I guess I have time for another round.” Alleras stuck some arrows into the ground before him, arranging them into a crown.

“I'm ready. Go!”

“I have arms twice yours – more than twice – and I can't even bend your bow.”

“When you will forge yourself a link, I might show you how to.” Alleras answered.

“A polite way to say 'Forget about it, Mollander. ' You'll never get a link, and not because of your arms.” Armen remarked. “Your wit is not even half his. Our Sphinx is getting a new link tomorrow.”

“Another link? You just forged one!” Mollander was not the quickest mind.

“Valyrian steel, no less.” Roone brought forth his admiration.

“Can't lag behind Slayer. Stop gaping and throw another apple.”

“By the way, where is Sam? He left us halfway trough one of his stories, and I'm waiting for the end. I almost couldn't sleep tonight.” Roone asked.

Armen replied. “You are too young and too fond of tales; I doubt half of Sam The Slayer's ones are true. Others? They haven't been reported for hundred centuries, lad.”

“Slayer couldn't lie for his life.” Mollander disagreed. “He can't talk without stuttering.”

“With archmaester Vaellyn, he was the only one _not_ stuttering. You should have heard them: Old Vinegar was cooing like a dove. If Sam can soften him, he can lie as easily.” Armen was boasting an intimacy with the archmaester he had not.

Mollander insisted. “He can't speak to a girl without stuttering _and_ blushing.”

Alleras interposed. “Sam is not used to women; there are not many up there at the Wall, I think. Night Watchers are sworn to chastity.”

The Sphinx was both rivalling and protecting Slayer, and that marked him as their group leader, no matter his academics. Mollander thought Sam would make a better maester, since a maester is to serve, not to command; despite his easy smile, his husky voice, his soft manners, Alleras was instead a born leader.

“Even maesters are, but I don't blush at every girls speaking to me.”

“You are no maester, Mollander.” Armen sighed. “You'll never be.”

Roone added “Besides, I don't know of any girl who would willingly talk to you.”

Alleras shook his quiver. “I have still arrows. Please, some apples.”

Rosey passed by with a platter, skirted the Sphinx, and blushed.

“Some lucky bastards make girls blush, without even talking to them.” Mollander grumbled and slung Alleras an apple.

“Sweet Rosey must have sniffed Alleras's uncle's sweet money.” Armen said with his I-know-better-than-you attitude.

Roone snickered. ”Judging from the way she looked at him, the Sphinx could have her for free.”

“I would never rob Emma of her money.” Alleras seemed to bristle at the idea, and laughed. “Toss another.”

Roone huffed. “We can't begin without Slayer.”

Mollander was as always two days late. “Begin what?”

“I promised to educate you uncouth youngsters to Dornish wine exquisiteness, at next uncle's remittance.” Alleras pointed with his longbow limb to a flask on the table. “I got some handsome money from him, some late summer vintage as well and there you are.” Alleras shot, hitting the apple, as he had with all the previous arrows. “Late summer vintage is the best.”

Alleras was a bastard child, brought up with his own daughter by his uncle, a Dornish wine merchant, shamefully doting on him. In Dorne they were more open on the matter, in the other Kingdoms seldom fathers took care of bastards, if they had heir of their own, and certainly not in their own houses.

“Are you revelling right before a link, Alleras? You should be studying.”

Alleras tapped his bow on the desk.

“Nope, Mollander. I never study the day before, I rather have fun. Revels, drinking, general debauchery and the like are great on pre-link days. Just leafing a book instead could turn your brain into mush.”

Armen added gravely. “Your problem, Mollander, is not studying the day before – your brain is already mush, as far as I can tell - but revelling and drinking every _other_ day.”

Leo joined them. It was debatable if he was really a member of their group - they'd rather not - or an attachment of Sam The Slayer instead. Sam was a Tarly, Leo a Tyrell, the Tarlys were the Tyrells most faithful bannermen and Leo considered Slayer his personal trove. Sam let him think so.

At least, Lazy Leo should know where he was hiding.

“Sam is at the rookery.” He sat astride their bench and looked at the flask. “What's that?”

“One more, Mollander.” Alleras didn't bother answering before a couple of shots.

“That's the very same wine poured from Prince Doran's pitchers.”

“I doubt it.” Leo arched his brow.

“How can you tell? Have you ever been at Sunspear, or in Dorne, for that matter?”

Alleras turned back, and loosed an arrow.

“Will you ever stop your childish apple training, Sphinx, grow up and turn to something manlier? Sword and armour, to name one.”

“Not before I hit all of them. Till I miss one, till I'm not perfect, I'm entitled to my childish game.”

Mollander stumbled on a stray arrow, picked it up and looked at its shaft. “I guess they have to do something with left over goose feathers, after manufacturing quills for the Citadel.”

“The same way cider is archery by-product. They must use Alleras's sliced apples somehow.” Roone observed.

“ _Never_ give up your arrows, Sphinx, I beg you.” Armen argued. “I would sorely miss this cider.”

“Nothing deadlier than goose feathers.” Alleras swiftly nocked and shot. “Longbows pierce armours, and it's known a quill kills more than a sword. I don't think I will need to turn to anything else. You have no reason to grieve.”

“Where have you been, Sam? It took you ages.” Lazy Leo lazily asked.

“Slain an Other on your way here, to whet your appetite?” Armen mocked.

“R- rookery. A storm of ravens.” Slayer wheezed.

“Just fitting for a crow like you.” Alleras snickered.

“There are b- bursting news – and a bird for you, Sphinx.” Sam panted. “I hurried here as soon as I could.”

He slung Alleras's letter on the table, heavily slouching on the bench, and Leo took it.

“Looks like the Martells' sigil.” He studied it quizzically.

Alleras lowered his bow, arrow still nocked, and turned to Leo. “You will keep your hands off my letter.”

“Who is your uncle, Sphinx, who can use Sunspear ravens?”

“Will you now believe we are drinking Prince Doran's same wine? My uncle grow up at the Water Gardens, the same time the Prince was there, and he is of an age with him.”

The Sphinx turned back and released.

“A Prince friend to a commoner?” Leo Tyrell was still doubtful.

Sam explained. “At the Water Gardens, there are children from everywhere and every classes: from the highest lords of Dorne, to wealthy Free Cities merchants, to commoners.”

“That's the Dornishpeople – promiscuous since the earliest age. I'd wager your cousin would lie with anyone with enough manhood to know where to put it.” Leo pouted contemptuously.

Alleras everlasting smile didn't wan, but his eyes glittered colder than a snake ones.

“It's known your cousin Margaery bedded, is bedding and will bed anyone with a tin crown on his head and not manhood enough in him to make a woman of her.”

Sam broke their hostile silence. “If the news are true, Dorne will raise banners and gather spears.”

“It is due time Prince Doran decides anything. Hot-blooded as you are, the Dornishmen are craven. Pray tell how many of them are fighting in the Five Kings war; tell me for which one they sided.” Leo said dismissively.

“Just waiting for the Tyrells to decide which King to finally settle with. By now, I counted two of them; we are biding our time for your vane to stop.”

Sam tried to cool them off. “I've not made myself clear. Tyrion Lannister had been charged with King Joffrey's death-”

“News older than Old Valyria, Slayer.” Roone uttered.

“I have still three arrows, Mollander.”

“He chose trial by combat.” Sam went on.

Alleras shot his first one.

“Ser Gregor Clegane championed for the Queen.”

The second arrow whistled, and Alleras picked up the last one.

“ _Late_ Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell for the Imp.”

The Sphinx's bowstring sings, high-pitched and clear.

 _Plop._ Two neatly cut apple halves falling to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my Oldtown and its high towers, to my Citadel
> 
> [Background music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLUKfU2AOBY)


	3. Obara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dorne Desert. Somewhere, in the middle of nowhere._

Fast. Faster. Faster is not fast enough. Wind is not fast enough.

Thuds grow louder; horses thudding in the desert, but it's not their hooves thuds on desert sand. Sand cannot match her thudding heartbeat.

Wind and sand whips her burning eyes.

She whips Wind; she spurs Sand deeper into the desert. Wind in their manes, froth on their mouths.

Desert steeds can run for days without getting tired; Sand IV and Red Wind - her and her father's favourite stallions, the finest horses in Dorne – for twice as long.

Her jaws are clenched so tightly they ache. Her knuckles white, gripping useless bridles loose. She let the horses steer their course – they know better than her where to go.

The steeds wheels suddenly; they have felt water. Relics – a well – looming at distance, and quickly approaching. Obara dismounts to read her letter – she has just broken the seal, and barely glimpsed at hit, before ordering her father's horse and hers ready.

She can't find it.

Obara ruffles Red Wind mane; the horse look at her. A wild beast, looking at her with big, wet, knowing eyes, as he was crying for his master. Mourning for him.

She draws her dagger and slits the horse throat open. Blood gushes high, in gusts, and washes her over. The stallion kneels down. A gore pool wets her boots.

She steps back, and looks at her father's steed dying. When she cleans her hands on her leather jerkin, she finds the letter sticking to it. She doesn't know if because of blood, or sweat, or froth or tears.

Wetness, whatever its cause, has blurred the letter ink, and she can't read.

Obara kneels propping on her spear and sobs.

Why did you come and wrested me from my mother. Why didn't you come sooner. Why did you leave me too soon.

Wounded. Betrayed.


End file.
